


Reunion Tour

by Seascribe



Category: Canadian Actor RPF (C6D)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Canadian Blowjob Day, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2302223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seascribe/pseuds/Seascribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugh hadn't been sure that they were still doing that, it's not like they <i>talked</i> about it, or like he was going to ask.  But it sounds like Callum's offering, and there's no way Hugh's going to turn it down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion Tour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Canadian Blowjob Day revival, celebrating CKR's 54th birthday, with the sincere hope that he doesn't google himself (but let's be real, he probably does).
> 
> Thanks to Scribe for helping me get rid of all the superfluous commas and turn them into feelings instead.

Hugh doesn't call beforehand. He hadn't even been sure he was going to turn up, until he's standing outside of Callum's building, driving his thumb into the buzzer, being kind of obnoxious about it to cover his nerves. It's not even late, like eleven, but Callum sounds sleepy and pissed off when he answers. Hugh thinks about walking away without saying anything, but goddamnit, he's already here, he's not pussying out now. If Callum doesn't want to see him, he doesn't have to let him up. 

"Didn't realise I was interrupting your beauty rest, Hollywood," Hugh warbles into the intercom. 

"Fuck off," Callum says, but a second later the door rattles as he buzzes him up. 

His apartment is unlocked, but he's not in the big open living room, with its piles of milk crates full of books and junk, paintings propped up against the walls. Hugh curses when he trips over a bag of golf clubs stacked up behind the sofa, and they fall with a loud clunk. 

"Stop breaking my shit and get up here." Callum's voice drifts down from the loft, still sleep-rough and annoyed.

The loft is mostly taken up with a big, low bed, where Callum's buried under a pile of blankets, nothing but the spiky tips of his hair visible. 

"You didn't have to let me in," Hugh says, feeling defensive. 

Callum snorts and pushes down the blanket enough so that Hugh can see his face in the dim glow of the streetlights, although Callum probably can't see him, not as more than a blob against the wall. 

"No shit, Dillon. What are you doing out here?" 

"Gig," Hugh says. 

Callum squints at him. "When?" 

"Finished up about half an hour ago," Hugh says. "Shitty crowd." It's the truth, tonight was just one of those nights where things didn't click, the crowd just wasn't with it, and the band never seemed to find that sweet spot where the music really worked. But he would've left anyway, not that he's going to tell Callum that. This is only the band's second gig since they wrapped shooting Hard Core Logo. That first gig had been a good one, good like sex, or smack, but it'd been like he couldn't really feel it, kept looking for Callum in the back of the crowd. 

"How'd you know I'd be in town?" Callum asks. 

Hugh hadn't, because the last time he'd heard from Callum, it'd been a week after filming wrapped. Callum hadn't had anything new lined up and was still waiting to hear about that show airing down in the States. There wasn't any reason for Hugh to think he'd be around. But it wasn't hard to get to out to Callum's place, and, well, he'd hoped. 

"I had a feeling," is all he says. 

Callum snorts. "I was in LA this morning."

"Your movie-star lifestyle is so _thrilling_ ," Hugh drawls. Callum scowls and throws a pillow at him. It misses by a good three feet. 

"Quit being a smart ass and get over here," he says.

Hugh hadn't been sure that they were still doing that, it's not like they _talked_ about it, or like he was going to ask. But it sounds like Callum's offering, and there's no way Hugh's going to turn it down. 

Callum scoots over, making room for him on the bed, and Hugh kicks off his boots and climbs in. He hadn't touched anything the whole night, no booze because it makes Callum weird, and no hard stuff, because it pisses Callum off, and Hugh wants to fuck him, not fight about his vices. He still smells like the club, though, like sweat and smoke and other people's perfume, but Callum doesn't seem to mind. He curls right up to Hugh, presses his face against Hugh's neck. Probably Hugh should make fun of him for being such a chick, but Callum's naked and working his hand down the front of Hugh's jeans, and on second thought, Hugh really doesn't want to say anything that might make him reconsider that plan of action. 

"Wish I could've seen the show," Callum says, rubbing his fingers along the elastic of Hugh's boxers. "I like watching you."

"Missed having you there," Hugh mutters, and then gets a hand in Callum's hair--it's softer than he's used to, this is maybe the first time he's touched it without product in it--and pulls his head back because if he's kissing Callum, then he can't say any more stupid shit like that. 

Callum must still be half-asleep or something, because Hugh's never seen him like this, lazy and slow, without the urgency that Hugh's used to from all the times they'd fucked on the bus, in pay-by-the-hour motels, in Callum's trailer. It makes Hugh feel jittery. He bites Callum's lip, trying to get a rise out of him, but Callum just groans and arches his back, rubbing up against Hugh like a fucking over-sized cat. He's still just playing with the waistband of Hugh's boxers, _teasing_ , or maybe just out of it, but either way, thirty more seconds and it's going to drive Hugh out of his goddamn mind. 

When Hugh pulls away to get rid of his clothes, Callum makes a whiny noise that makes Hugh kind of want to push him out of bed, but he gets with the program pretty quickly when Hugh sprawls out across his lap and scrapes his stubble across Callum's hip. 

"Fuck, yeah, want you to blow me, c'mon," Callum babbles, grabbing Hugh's hair, and yeah, this is what Hugh'd been expecting, what he'd been missing, Callum desperate and eager, like his whole life depends on Hugh getting him off. Hugh's been thinking about this, jerking off to memories of Callum, for _weeks_. He wraps a hand around Callum's dick, tighter than Callum likes, but Callum doesn't protest, just rocks his hips off the bed and keeps begging for it. 

"I forgot how easy you were," Hugh says, just to wind Callum up, and Callum socks his arm. 

"Fuck you, Dillon."

Hugh makes a game-show buzzer noise. "Try again." He can feel himself grinning like an idiot. 

Callum groans and reaches down to touch himself, but Hugh smacks his hand away, and puts his mouth on Callum's dick, sucking hard. He's not as good at giving head as Callum is--probably there are porn stars who aren't as good at giving head as Callum is--but it doesn't matter, because Callum really is easy, and fast and sloppy is plenty to get him there. 

The first few times they'd done this, Hugh'd been down on his knees in an alley behind some dive, and they only had a couple minutes before somebody started wondering where they were. He'd thought then that it was the risk that got Callum off so fast, something about the adrenaline rush. But it was the same when they started taking it to motels where they had plenty of time; Callum still got off like a seventeen year old kid getting blown for the first time behind the high school equipment shed. Hugh fucking loves it.

Callum yanks on his hair, and squirms, and moans, and Hugh's jaw is just starting to get tired when Callum says, "Christ, Hugh--" and he has about two seconds' warning to pull off before Callum comes all over Hugh's hand and his own stomach. 

"Would you have done that after the show tonight, if I was there?" Callum asks. His voice is hoarse, fucked-out, but more awake than he's been since Hugh turned up. He's petting Hugh's hair, fingers scritching gently at his scalp. If Callum had been at the gig, Hugh would've barely made it through the set-list before dragging him into the men's room or out the fire exit, wherever they'd have enough time to get off. This was a million times better. But there's no way in hell Hugh's ever going to say any of that.

"In your dreams, Rennie," he scoffs instead, and yeah, Callum knows how to translate it because he laughs softly and says, 

"Hey, you can fuck me, if you want." 

Hugh opens his mouth to say--something, fuck if he knows what, probably something stupid, but Callum's already rolling over, getting himself comfortable. 

"Lube and condoms in the drawer," he offers. 

So Hugh fumbles around for a second, gloves up and gets his fingers slick, opening Callum up with a couple of fingers, while Callum shivers and makes quiet, fucked-out happy noises into the pillow. 

"Okay," Callum says, and lifts up a little. "Come on, I'm good." He gets up onto his knees and elbows and Hugh takes him at his word, sliding home in one long thrust. There's no way he's going to last long, not after listening to the needy, demanding noises Callum makes when he's got Hugh's mouth on his dick, but he figures Callum's not really in a position to care very much. Hugh drapes himself over Callum's back, one arm wrapped around his chest, the other braced on the mattress, and tries to memorize every sound Callum makes, every tremor of his muscles, because who knows how long it's going to be til he gets this again, if he's _ever_ getting this again, and he wants it to count. 

He comes so hard he can't stay upright, sags heavily onto Callum, who grunts. 

"Sorry," Hugh mumbles into the back of his neck, taking his weight back onto his hands so he can pull away. Callum flops down onto the mattress underneath him, rolling onto his back so he can grin up at Hugh, goofy with endorphins. Hugh fumbles inelegantly with the condom, and manages to get it somewhere that's not the bed, at least, and then freezes, because they don't _do_ this, the dopey afterglow stuff. They clean up, put their clothes back on, and go back on set, or back to the bar, or to wherever Callum goes instead of bars. 

"Earth to Hugh," Callum intones in a tinny robot voice. "What the fuck are you doing?" 

And Hugh doesn't fucking _know_ , that's the motherfucking _problem_. He thinks about leaving, which is a strategy that works really well with groupies, but he gets distracted by Callum's mouth, red and puffy from kissing, and the stupid mess of his hair, from Hugh's hands in it, and before he can decide what he's going to do, Callum rolls his eyes and yanks Hugh's head down to kiss him. It's long and slow, and--and _tender_ or some shit, and Hugh feels himself just melt into it. 

"Christ, you're a moron," Callum says, after he lets Hugh go. 

"Go fuck yourself," Hugh retorts, and Callum laughs, drags the blankets up over them both, and falls asleep. 


End file.
